


With Abandon, Or Not At All

by Cliophilyra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, M/M, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5161046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cliophilyra/pseuds/Cliophilyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Autumnal domestic bunker fluff. Cas is cooking for the boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Abandon, Or Not At All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purpleandorangesheep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleandorangesheep/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for the lovely purpleandorangesheep - Happy Birthday my dear!! :-)
> 
> Title from this quote - "Cooking is like love: It should be entered into with abandon or not at all." — Harriet van Horne

Cas has both hands buried in a bowl of butter, sugar and flour. The sleeves of his blue woollen sweater are rolled up and he's smushing the mixture together, rubbing the soft, slippery butter into the dry ingredients, feeling it slide between his fingertips. It's Fall now, time for dark, rich fruit, cinnamon and sugar. 

A cookery book is propped open against the tiled wall above the stainless steel counter. There is a shiny smear of butter on the edge of the page. He had found the book, a fifties classic, in one of the kitchen drawers.

Dean had taught Cas everything he knew about cooking but his repertoire was limited and Cas wanted to surprise him and Sam. The old book is huge, the recipes mostly simple and traditional but delicious. The pictures alone look good enough to eat.

The bunker’s kitchen is surprisingly good. The equipment may be a little dated but it all still works. They have added to it over the last few months - a food processor, a coffee machine, a blender so Sam can make smoothies with an array of unlikely fruits and vegetables and try in vain to get Dean to drink them.

On the dining table behind him there is a bowl of fruit. The purple juices of shiny, plump Blackberries, mingling with thin, tart apple slices, caramel scented brown sugar and fragrant cinnamon. 

Cas's fingertips are stained dark with blackberry juice under their coating of buttery flour. There is also, unbeknownst to him, a tell-tail smudge of purple on his lips. 

Sam is sitting at the dining table, his laptop next to the bowl of fruit, his attention buried in The Darkness, trying to understand exactly what they might be in for. Everything has been oddly quiet for a while, but he knows enough to know that now is the time to take advantage of the calm before the storm.

Dean enters the kitchen. His hands are covered in black grease and there is a smear of oil over one cheekbone. He is wiping his hands on a rag, which he stuffs into the back pocket of his worn jeans. He heads for the big steel fridge in the corner. As he passes behind Cas he trails a hand across the small of the angel’s back; a casual, almost thoughtless gesture. Sam only notices because he happens to look up at precisely that second. He blinks, watching as Cas hums in acknowledgement of the touch but doesn’t look around as Dean passes by. 

Dean opens the fridge and takes out a beer, twisting the cap off and throwing it toward the trash. He leans against the fridge door and smiles when Cas turns towards him, “You’ve got…” He starts, touching his own mouth in the same place where Cas’s lips are stained with juice.

Cas frowns and touches his lip, only succeeding in making things worse by adding floury fingerprints to the dark stain. Dean sighs and approaches him with a soft smile, raising his hand and wiping the flour away. The purple juice remains. Dean grins and rolls his eyes and Cas returns his smile, all gums and teeth and confused happiness. 

Sam watches fascinated, wondering if they’ve forgotten he is there. 

Dean looks down at Cas, he is inches away, his hand hovering where he just brushed his thumb along the angel’s pink bottom lip. His fingers flex as if he wants to touch him again. Cas is looking at him wide-eyed and unmoving, he doesn’t even seem to be breathing. Sam knows now would probably be a good time to beat a strategic, diplomatic retreat, but he is frozen, unable to move in case he somehow breaks the spell.

Whole seconds seem to pass before Dean blinks, swallows and turns away. Cas is frowning as Dean takes another swig of his beer. His eyes flick to Sam for a microsecond and he clears his throat, “You’ve got juice on you Cas,” he says, his voice gruff and slightly cracked, before he walks back to the door of the kitchen. 

As Dean passes the table Sam manages to catch his eye. He has no idea what look he gives him but he tries his damnedest to convey everything from understanding, acceptance and unwavering support to his annoyance and irritation at his brother being an emotionally stunted man-child. Dean just narrows his eyes and leaves the room so Sam presumes something got lost in translation.

Cas stands and watches him go, one hand on his lip again, in the act of transferring more flour and the other limp at his side, a flurry of flour falling onto his jeans and the floor. He looks utterly confused and Sam feels his heart ache for him. He is about to open his mouth and begin the desperate search for suitably sympathetic words when his brother re-enters the room. 

Dean has a look of determination on his face that Sam normally associates with going into battle. His jaw is set, his eyes are focussed and he walks straight up to Cas without hesitation, lifts his hand to his lip, brushing the flour away again, raising his other hand to hold Cas's face. He curls his fingers under Cas’s ears, runs his thumbs over sharp cheekbones, leans down and kisses him. It is a fierce kiss, full of resolve and unwillingness to stop or think. He closes his eyes and clenches his fingers against Cas’s scalp and crushes their mouths together. 

Cas’s eyes are saucers at first, panicked and confused. He clutches at Dean’s shoulders with cake mix covered hands, leaving a white hand-print where there used to be a red one. His fingers are stiff and awkward but then Dean makes a soft, almost broken sound of relief and Cas sighs in response, eyes closing as he opens his mouth. He seems to melt against Dean, moving his hand up to drag flour through his hair as well. 

Sam folds up his laptop and steals away to his room.


End file.
